"Joe Haldeman - Blood Brothers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Haldeman Joe)

He almost went east, to check on Mizraith. "Be careful for the next few hours"тАФthat
must have meant his bond to Mizraith made him somehow vulnerable in the weird struggle
with Markmor over Marype. But he had to go back to the estate and dispose of the bones in
the dogs' troughs and then be Lastel for a noon meeting.
There was one drab whore in the waiting room of the Lily Garden, who gave him a thick
smile and then recognized him and slumped back to doze. He went through the velvet
curtain to where the eunuch sat with his back against the wall, glaive across his lap.
He didn't stand. "Any trouble, One-Thumb?"
"No trouble. No krrf, either." He heaved aside the bolt on the massive door to the tunnel.
"For all I know, it's still going on. If Mizraith had lost, I'd know by now, I think."
"Or if he'd won," the eunuch said.
"Possibly. I'll be in touch with your mistress if I have anything for her." One-Thumb lit
the waiting lamp and swung the door closed behind him.
Before he'd reached the bottom of the stairs, he knew something was wrong. Too much
light. He turned the wick all the way down; the air was slightly glowing. At the foot of the
stairs, he set down the lamp, drew his rapier, and waited.
The glow coalesced into a fuzzy image of Mizraith. It whispered, "You are finally in
dark, Lastel. One-Thumb. Listen: I may die soon. Your charm, I've transferred to Stefab,
and it holds. Pay him as you've paid me. . . ." He wavered, disappeared, came back. "Your
krrf is in this tunnel. It cost more than you can know." Darkness again.
One-Thumb waited a few minutes more in the darkness and silence (fifty steps from the
light above) before relighting the lamp. The block of krrf was at his feet. He tucked it under
his left arm and proceeded down the tunnel, rapier in hand. Not that steel would be much
use against sorcery, if that was to be the end of this. But an empty hand was less.
The tunnel kinked every fifty steps or so, to restrict line-of-sight. One-Thumb went
through three corners and thought he saw light at the fourth. He stopped, doused the lamp
again, and listened. No footfalls. He set down the krrf and lamp and filled his left hand with
a dagger, then headed for the light. It didn't have to be magic; three times he had surprised
interlopers in the tunnel. Their husks were secreted here and there, adding to the musty
odor.
But no stranger this time. He peered around the corner and saw Lastel, himself, waiting
with sword out.
"Don't hold back there," his alter ego said. "Only one of us leaves this tunnel."
One-Thumb raised his rapier slowly. "Wait . . . if you kill me, you die forever. If I kill
you, the same. This is a sorcerer's trap."
"No, Mizraith's dead."
"His son is holding the spell.тАЭ
Lastel advanced, crabwise dueler's gait. "Then how am I here?"
One-Thumb struggled with his limited knowledge of the logic of sorcery. Instinct moved
him forward, point in line, left-hand weapon ready for side parry or high block. He kept his
eye on Lastel's point, krrf-steady as his own. The krrf sang doom and lifted his spirit.
It was like fencing with a mirror. Every attack drew instant parry, reprise, parry, reprise,
parry, re-reprise, break to counter. For several minutes, a swift yet careful ballet, large twins
mincing, the tunnel echoing clash.
One-Thumb knew he had to do something random, unpredictable; he lunged with a
cutover, impressing to the right. Lastel knew he had to do something random, unpredictable;
he lunged with a double-disengage, impressing to the right. They missed each other's blades.
Slammed home.
One-Thumb saw his red blade emerge from the rich brocade over Lastel's back, tried to
shout, and coughed blood over his killer's shoulder. Lastel's rapier had cracked breastbone